Summer vacations haven’t been much to look forward to ever since college started. The main goal for the summers of many college students is to make enough cash to get themselves through the next two semesters of school.

I’ve always prided myself on the fact I would never resort to working in fast food or in a factory like many pre-college kids have to.

The way I saw it, if I saved the majority of the money I made, I’d be set financially. So I thought I found the perfect job. I spent the last four summers working at an outdoor public pool.

My first summer was spent in the girls basket room taking money and controlling obnoxious little girls who thought they were Meredith Brooks. Needless to say, we began paying more attention to the radio content after the third-grade girls were singing, “I’m a b***h,” in the showers.

The smell of stale dirty diapers in the garbage outside the door flowed in with every gust of wind. The odor of the personal belongings that I sat next to day after day grew riper and more tear-jerking as the summer progressed and the air grew hotter.

The following summer, I worked as a lifeguard at the same pool. It was comforting to know that I’d at least be getting paid a little more and getting a good tan in the process. I said good-bye to my pasty white skin and hello to the fact I was inches away from a pool during one of the hottest summers I can remember and not able to take a dip myself.

The next two summers would change the way I felt about the exciting world of lifeguarding. I was offered the position as assistant head lifeguard and took it willingly. What a great opportunity. Not only would it be more pay, but I would be in charge.

The first part of the summer was great. The days weren’t overly hot, which made for less stressful and accident-ridden open swims. But things began to fall apart. The 30-year-old pool always had problems. If it weren’t the water heaters breaking down, it was something else. Duct tape was the building’s savior.

In the span of one day, the following occurred: a little boy pooped in the pool and on the deck surrounding the pool, and a diaper exploded in the baby pool, causing it to be shut down on one of the hottest days of the summer.

This forced all of those non-swimmers into water that was obviously too deep for them to swim in, but their careless parents saw no problem with it. And in this crowded pool, a little boy almost drowned as his mother was oblivious to what was happening. Luckily, one of the guards jumped in and pulled him out.

Within the same hour’s time, the main pump that keeps the water circulating through the filtration system shut down. Imagine, if you will, the urine-infested water at a standstill. Not a pretty sight.

Lucky for me, the other head guard and I were attending a conference on this day while the assistant from the previous summer filled in. I missed it all, but it got me thinking. My reign as head guard was just beginning and the honeymoon was over.

I wasn’t immune to the bad days, either. My second summer as a manager would be the last for me. The major pump would shut down a few more times at the beginning of the summer but we found a way to circulate the water by by-passing the pump – illegal, but it worked.

Midsummer, the state inspector would catch with our circulation creation during our annual, unannounced inspection and shut us down for a day-and-a-half until we replaced the pump. This, along with the many rescues that I witnessed and assisted with, was the last straw for me.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I came to the realization that I needed more money than the pool could offer me. After the things I went through, I deserved more, too. Not only did I need more money, but I needed a job where I could count on keeping my sanity through out the three months and get some sleep in the process.

I was tired of cleaning crap out of the pool, cleaning up after bloody noses, staring down the pedophile that enjoyed his visits to the pool and kicking out little boys who always felt the need to imitate pro wrestling moves in the pool.

I took the extreme measure that many my age have. I came to the conclusion that despite my fears of the factory life and how I never wanted to step that low, I too would become one of them.

A summer working the third shift at a cheese factory or sanding toilet seats 40 hours a week may not be a glamorous job, but just the thought of that first check often can change a few minds. It changed mine.

In a county with several well-known companies, I figured it wouldn’t be too difficult to get a well-paying summer job at any of the factories, which are flooded with college students every summer.

Just as I began to feel comfortable with the idea of working in a building with contents that potentially could cause me to suffer from lung cancer 30 years down the road, I’ve been told that many, if not all of these factories won’t be hiring this summer.

Now what do I do?

To make things a little more interesting, I’ll add the fact that I will be without any mode of transportation this summer. Could things be anymore complicated? I think not.

I find it rather ironic that I can’t even get a job at any of the places that I looked down at for so long. I guess I’m getting what I so rightfully deserve.